


Narcicronus

by inkyopolis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Narcissism, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyopolis/pseuds/inkyopolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is KANKRI VANTAS and you hadn't started your day intending to snoop on CRONUS AMPORA, but that exhausting heap just HAPPENED to leave his door open wide enough that you COULDN'T HELP but PEEK when you walked by.</p><p>And dear, oh dear. What a sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narcicronus

Your name is KANKRI VANTAS and you hadn't started the day intending to snoop on CRONUS AMPORA, but that exhausting heap just HAPPENED to leave his door open wide enough that you COULDN'T HELP but PEEK when you walked by.  
  
And dear, oh dear. What a sight.  
  
Amid the piles of dirty clothes, fouled dishes, and packs upon packs of empty cigarette boxes, there he was, in all his princely glory. With his back to the doorway, standing in front of his dressing mirror, flexing.  
  
When you first figured out what he was doing, you had a flash of something... embarrassment, mixed with pity, mixed with a desire to laugh. But then your brain kicked in.  
  
'It's probably good that he doesn't hate himself like so many of us have been trained to by the body-shame industry... But then again, he does seem to be keeping himself to a platonic ideal of masculinity that may itself be perpetuating a toxic cycle of gender culture.'  
  
You let out a small sigh. You'll have to talk with him about this later.     
  
Curling his forearm, Cronus strains to call the small lump of muscle that constitutes his bicep into attention. He leans down and gives it a kiss.  
  
You bite your cheek and turn your head away from the crack in door. 'Oh goodness.' You draw slow deliberate breath through your nose. 'I really shouldn't laugh at this,' you think. You are not being your best self by laughing at what someone else does in the sanctity of their own space, and you know that. This is a dubious instinct. You make a mental note to work on this.  
  
You should really be headed off to the library anyways. So much to read. But... you decide one more peek couldn't hurt.  
  
He's still there facing the mirror, back to the doorway. But now he's working his shirt off over his head.  
  
'Seriously, what kind of individual doesn't close and lock the door before engaging in this kind of thing,' you think. 'It's a good thing I'm a so responsible. Someone with malicious intent could really embarrass him later if they wanted to.'  
  
You watch him toss the shirt into a pile of clothes in corner of the room. He turns back to the mirror. Now he's flexing both arms. You roll your eyes so hard.  
  
'Well, he does have a nice back at least.'  
  
You watch as his shoulder blades squeeze together, sinewy muscle dancing in the light, the ridges of his spine casting small triangular shadows. The shadows string together into a delicate curve, leading down . . .  down . . .  down to the black belt circumscribing his narrow waist. You follow the lines of his jeans as they hug his backside. 'They... They seem to fit him very well.'  
  
You can feel your face flushing. Someone must have turned on the warm air.  
  
Cronus stops flexing and your heart races. 'Shit, he's going to turn around and you are standing here like a weirdo.' But, he doesn't. Instead, he reaches out and touches the mirror. He's ... tracing a hand across the copy his own face. You realize he's stroking it.  
  
'Is... is he papping his own reflection?'  
  
As you contemplate the psychoanalytic field-day you are witnessing, you notice his face flushing. His neck fins start to slowly flutter, performing a small erratic dance. He looks lost in the mirror-image, like he's been hypnotized.  
  
That's when it hits you. He's getting aroused.  
  
'This is some seriously problematic fetishization of red quadrant performativity,' you think. Yes. Yes, you are quite pleased with that bit of analysis. Will have to search the library later to see if there's any theoretical work on that. God how did it get so hot in this hallway?  
  
His chest falls up and down, breathing heavier now. He moves down to unbuckle his belt with his non-papping hand. In one swift motion, he pulls the belt off and flings in into the corner. He's already fumbling with his fly.  
  
You can feel yourself beginning to sweat. 'Oh... oh no.' You turn your head, quickly looking up and down the hallway to make sure no one is coming.    
  
When you turn your head back to peer through the door, you notice that Cronus's pants and underwear are now bunched around his ankles. 'How did he do that so quickly?' You swallow as you watch him, papping his own reflected images while simultaneously rubbing his own cock against the mirror.  
  
Mouth agape, dry, you feel dumbfounded. 'This is incredibly inappropriate and potentially super triggering,' you think.  
  
You aren't sure when exactly, but somewhere along the line, your hand found its way to your own bulge, which is making its presence known in the confines of your high-wasted pants. Brushing a palm over your own arousal, you think, 'He should not be doing this.'  
  
You watch as the back of his thighs contract as he rocks back and forth into his own hand, a gentle rhythm which you begin to match unconsciously. A small trilling noise escapes him. It was -him- that made that sound wasn't it?  
  
As he shifts his body slightly, you get a better look him through the mirror. 'God, he's dripping everywhere.' And that's when an inadvertent moan definitely escapes /your/ mouth.  
  
And that's when it happens. He turns his head slightly and mirror-Cronus makes eye contact with you.  
  
You freeze in place, pretty sure that your heart has now taken up residency in your bowels.  
  
There is no motion from either of you for five... ten... seconds. But neither of you break eye-contact.  
  
Rather than bolting for his clothes or the door, Cronus instead turns back to look at his own reflection. Then back at you. Then back at his reflection. He starts gyrating his hips back and forth, now with more of a dramatic flair.  
  
'Oh... he's... he's enjoying this,' you think.  
  
Congratulations KANKRI VANTAS, you are ONCE AGAIN ENTWINED in something HIGHLY PROBLEMATIC involving CRONUS AMPORA.  
  
Prurient disgust fills your veins. 'He. Is. So. Gross.' You give yourself a gentle squeeze and are pretty sure you can feel dampness through your pants.  
  
Louder moans emanate from the room now. You watch as he pistons the fist wrapped around his cock back and forth, back and forth in the mirror image. His butt clenches in rapid motion. You find yourself in sync, drawing a hand around and across; squeezing, stroking.  
  
"Oh.. K.. Kan... Kankri!" moans Cronus into his own reflection.  
  
You blink hard as a burning fire engulfes your mind. 'Fffffffffff-thatlittlegoddamnFUCKINGshitbagtriggeringcocksucker.'  
  
Somewhere, the logical part of you is impressed. He may have planned this all out. He seemed to know exactly what buttons to press. Making a move on -you-, was never going to work (despite him trying so many times). Oaths are a sacred thing after all. But he figured out a way around that detail, that little shit.  
  
Of course, this is what you would have figured out had the logical processing part of your brain not been knocked into orbit the second he started moaning your fucking name.  
  
Mirror-Cronus flicks his eyes back at you. His mouth opens and his lips curl back over his teeth. He runs his tongue across the ivories. His whole body shudders. His jerking, erratic. He cries out.  
  
Two ropes of fluid splash against the mirror. He bucks his hips and a third, smaller one joins the party. He turns his head down to watch as it slides down the mirror, sucked south by gravity. Mirror-Cronus looks back up at you and smiles.  
  
You draw in breath hard, clenching your jaw. You can feel it building, coming up on you quickly. The wave to put out the fire. Yes. The return of rationality.  
  
But for a second, you are there. In the mirror. Looking out.  
  
Your hips buck and spasm. Red floods your vision. Heat.  
  
Then, you let go of the breath. You feel calming waves extinguishing the fires in your body. Control. Yes, control comes back.  
  
Your eyes refocus through the crack in the doorway. He's still standing there, pants around his ankles, smiling like the cat that caught the cuttlefish. Mirror-Cronus waves a sticky hand at you.  
  
You swallow nervously and break eye contact. You look down and notice the crotch of your pants is glued against your body.    
  
Your name is KANKRI VANTAS and you NEED A CHANGE OF CLOTHES.  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :3 
> 
> (Also, writing in the second person is really hard!)


End file.
